


The Miseries (Act III)

by yorkisms



Series: For the Sake of Revenge [3]
Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Blogging, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Epistolary, Experimental Style, Introspection, Multi, POV First Person, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, TBA - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-05-06
Packaged: 2020-02-09 07:51:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18633937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yorkisms/pseuds/yorkisms
Summary: After the Mount Massive whistleblower's account with VIRALeaks was compromised, the Murkoff cameramen agreed to start over again by providing those following the case a more personal, intimate look at their day-to-day life and health after the filming of their respective videos, identifying information censored for safety. With a more secure internet interface, they began to use their website for a form of self-expression and catharsis. These are their blog entries.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [law and order sound] 
> 
> Alright, act 3 of FTSOR! This is going to be an experimental act, where I let loose and have some fun playing with style, voice, et cetera. So while it won't be as "professional" as my other postings, I hope it's enjoyed anyway. 
> 
> Some notes- 
> 
> Because of the format, if comments are left as though directed to the characters, I've decided to experiment with them possibly acknowledging reader comments in the future. This is, of course, an experiment and may change later, but if you've been following the series and want to leave support (or want to take things a darker direction) then feel free. 
> 
> The censorship of names is for in-universe reasons. From context, it should be clear who's being discussed. I have an in universe explanation for how they do this also, but it's not that important.
> 
> The rating and tags will change, and for good measure I'll put trigger warnings in the pre-chapter notes. Though be warned, what I've written ahead contains already intense themes of sexual assault, and though most of it is still being edited, I'm near positive those themes will remain. As things change, I will also change the archive warnings tags as needed, though for the moment, I'm leaving it set to "none apply." 
> 
> The posting times are in MST (mountain standard time) since that's the timezone of Colorado- it doesn't actually reflect where they are, they chose it for symbolism reasons. 
> 
> This chapter contains a description of vomiting, workplace abuse (to an extent) and if you squint, minor suicidal ideation. 
> 
> Do enjoy. 
> 
>  
> 
> _Write the lines you want me to_  
>  _with words I dare to use of all_  
>  _the ones that you have taught me_  
>  _along the years._  
>  _You cast a perfect shadow on the paper,_  
>  _fade away with sunlight._  
>  _Fear the way you know me,_  
>  _love can leave a stain._
> 
>  
> 
> \--Sonata Arctica, _The Misery_

_ Posted at: 11:09 PM MST by W.  _

The site seems to be working well enough, so, uh, I thought I’d introduce myself since M ⸻  already wrote the heading. 

There are places out there on the internet where you can find our names, probably, people know out there, but um, we’d rather do it this way because we quite like our names and it’s going to be a pain to have to use fake ones in conversation. The events of the past year have screwed with everyone’s memory. Especially B ⸻ (the Temple Gate Cameraman.) 

His video- or, a version of it- was released about a week and a half ago. So I wanted to let you all know he’s been overwhelmed with the shock and even support. 

We’re somewhere rather cold right now. They’re both asleep but I couldn’t so I figured I would write my own thoughts for you all. 

As you probably know, I was a software engineer for Murkoff before the riot at Mount Massive. I leaked the location and trouble to the Outsider for his perspective (though I didn’t meet M⸻ until much later.) I didn’t trust myself to do this right. But it’s too late for that. My tape was already the most put together, and half the world has already heard me sobbing in a locker after escaping a serial killer driven even more mad by a modern attempt at MK ULTRA. Has heard M⸻ screaming as he lost his fingers. Heard, now, B⸻’s pained screams from off camera as his wife died from an effect of Murkoff technology. 

There’s no point in keeping more secrets than just our names. Everyone has already seen the worst of the world, and the worst of us, if they follow this case. 

Anyway. I’m the Whistleblower, W⸻. I don’t know what to tell you about me. I’m Korean. My mother passed when I was in high school and I still miss her cooking. I went to a high tier school in California. 

Even without the torture, Mount Massive was still a horrible place to work. M⸻ suggested I might write a post about it, so I figured I will, since I’m up late. 

Most places to work when you work IT aren’t fun. Somehow people still don’t quite know what they’re doing with their technology, even at a tech company. But Murkoff, on a whole, treated its tech workers like garbage for anything. 

My first boss got unceremoniously transferred for reporting harassment. The culprit was quietly disposed of by being cycled into their program- the same way they tried to dispose of me. My new boss was, to use M⸻’s words, a bully. Contact with the outside world went from reasonable to none. By the time of the riot that started everything between me and M⸻ I hadn’t spoken to my wife or children for nearly a month. It ached. It still does. People were losing their minds, each in their own way. I’d call it cabin fever, but not quite. I saw workers getting more and more cruel towards the test subjects. It felt like being the only sane person in the Stanford Prison Experiment. Everyone became sadists. Especially my new boss. 

I remember, shortly before I sent M⸻ an email blowing the whistle on Murkoff’s facility there, being forced to be on call for 72 hours straight for tech resolutions. I hadn’t slept in over a day when I stumbled back into my room to take a shower. I set my cell phone on the bathroom counter and got into a warm shower. I was allowed to return to employee quarters as long as I stayed available. I hoped that I could finally rest. I was so exhausted, dear reader, daydreaming of my real bed, at home, with my wife and children. 

Before I could stop myself, I threw up bile on the floor of the tiny shower stall, bringing me back to the almost hellish reality of the situation. I was stuck, alone, with a bunch of people who, it felt, were trying to kill me by working me to death. I wasn’t sure, but I thought right there, before the rioting even started, that I might die that night.

My pager went off. 

For what felt like half an hour, I stayed in the shower, on my knees, dry heaving as my pager went off begging for my attention. I finally managed to stabilize and page back that I was ill and couldn’t come help, please, please call someone else- probably someone just as stressed and sick and tired as me, but I had no other choice. I just hoped their second choice wasn’t throwing up in their own shower. 

As I got that message out and received an irritated “okay” from the brass, I dry heaved again. 

I had 24 hours off after that, and only one of my coworkers checked in. He brought employee cafeteria slop and water once I could keep food down. 

Then, of course, he told me to heal up faster so I could come the hell back to work. No slacking. 

As he slammed the door behind himself, I had this stunning moment of clarity that I had to get out of this awful place. That someone had to break this festering boil wide fucking open, so I could never experience that again. 

That’s when I started tracking down M⸻ to come take video. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Site moderator [B.] has made their first post.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, weekend delay- my car had a sudden breakdown over the weekend (me too, bro) so I spent most of my time dealing with that and ended up too tired Sunday evening to do anything. Yikes! 
> 
> For the record- car's fine, just being a pain in my butt.
> 
> Special thanks to PeacefulPhoenix for the song for this chapter, it's from their Blake playlist rather than mine, but it's so lovely.
> 
> _But I went down to the fires of insufferable sin,_   
>  _Lord, I tried but the devil wouldn’t let me come in_   
>  _Unholy trust has been broken,_   
>  _He don’t know on which side I stand,_   
>  _There ain’t no room among the damned for such a broken and a penitent man._
> 
> \--Brown Bird, _Down to the River_

_ Posted at 1:30 PM MST by B.  _

This is the man behind the camera at Temple Gate. I wanted to thank everyone paying attention to us for their support and condolences. 

My wife- Lynn- died months ago, but the wound still feels fresh. I’d prefer to leave it up to W⸻ and M⸻ to connect the events of my experience to Murkoff. That’s a question that’s been asked, but even the idea of reviewing the footage myself makes me feel nauseous. I’m going to pass on that. 

Lynn was an amazing woman. We went to primary school together, at the same Catholic K-8. We already had a lot in common at that age, and we had been friendly with each other since we had both started in Kindergarten. I can’t name the school, but it was on the east coast, and we got along because we had the same interests. So did our friend, Jess. 

Lynn, Jess, and I were inseparable- we often had to stay after school hanging out in the library waiting for one of our parents to come get us. Or for the late bus. 

Our school had an amateur newspaper, and Lynn joined up. She was only eight, but she was a fantastic writer. So was Jess. They took me with them. 

A few months later Jess died. It was ruled a suicide, but from the time of up until Temple Gate, I couldn’t remember the last time I saw her- they said I was there just before she died, but left before it happened. I couldn’t remember that afternoon at all. But something told me Jess...didn’t.

I went to grief counseling until I was at least 14, and I moved schools. I became anonymous in high school. It was almost nice, not thinking about how I likely witnessed a murder. Or a suicide. 

Lynn and I ended up in the same college. Even though being with her reminded me some of Jess, we were deeply in love. Lynn was still a little firebrand, her little stunt with the school newspaper having taken root in her mind. Lynn went into journalism. I followed her into film editing. 

And that was that. From the sophomore year of college up until we boarded the helicopter to inevitably crash in Temple Gate, I had never spent too much time away from Lynn. I think, before then, the longest amount of time we spent separated (not staying in the same house and not seeing each other) was the two days just prior to our relatively small family wedding. 

I think, every day, when I think about missing Lynn, about her passion. One of the pieces of footage I kept was her threatening the cultists. I hope that told you something about the kind of woman Lynn was. I admit she “wore the pants” as they say. I never minded. I loved watching her go. I would have described the Lynn I knew and loved as colorful, but at her end she seemed like everything had been taken from her and turned into a sepia-toned picture of my wife. 

The technology W⸻ and M⸻ are investigating that affected the settlement of Temple Gate showed you your worst traumas and your worst moments, the worst thing you ever did. 

I saw the day Jess died, and I at last got to know what happened to her.

I wish I could have asked Lynn what she saw. I wish we had never even tried to chase that story. 

Most of all, I wish Lynn was still alive. I wish that place had taken me as its sacrifice instead of her. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please feel free to leave comments (they can be directed at the characters rather than me if you'd like!), kudos, bookmark, share, all that good stuff, and you can always ask any questions you have (and learn how to support my writing) on my tumblr [here.](http://maggie-wittington.tumblr.com)


End file.
